Paint it Black
by Surferosa
Summary: After confronting Tritter, House is forced to go to rehab. He meets a mysterious young woman, who pulls him into a dark sexual adventure. Rated: M for sexuality and dark themes. R&R.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own House

Disclaimer: I do not own House.

**Chapter 1: Rehab**

He's been going to the meetings for god knows how long.

So far, the only thing good that came out of it was the entrainment. The pathetic jerks that went to rehab and their constant whining have been an amusing ride

.

The man sitting next to him smells of urine.

_"Fucking drug addicts."_ House grits his teeth, restraining himself, holding back another out-burst. It never really helped though – he'd never had self control and soon enough he'd be saying something snide, making someone cry and getting the group instructor mad.

He doesn't belong here with the junkies and whores, he is able, he is functioning and he is _in pain._

Another session has ended earlier and the credit goes to him for manipulating two ex coke whores into a fight.

House walks slowly through the corridor, his head bowed and his attention fixed on the noise his shoes and his cane make on the green rubber flooring. From the rooms beside him he can hear crying, whining – people who pity themselves for ruining their own life. He rolls his eyes and continues to limp slowly.

The last room near the fire exit is quiet. As he passes close, he hears no sobbing coming from inside. His typical curiosity is awaken, so he creeps closer to the door, noticing it's not entirely close.

He licks his lips and leans in to eavesdrop.

"Excuse me." A female voice is heard from behind him.

Before he even manages to back away, he feels himself being pushed aside. The woman is in her 20s, perhaps 25 or less, she is short even with her high stiletto heels and she is wearing a black dress with a cropped fake green fur coat. The woman opens the door wider and then stands in the entrance and stares at him blankly.

Her eyes are big, blue and painted black.

"Are you planning to stand here all night or are you going to join us?"

He furrows his brow in confusion and then takes a peek inside. It seems like the meeting for an average bunch of addicts.

"I am not sure I got the right group…" He mumbles and instantly wants to smack himself on the head. He hates those god damn sessions, what the hell is he thinking trying to sneak into another one? A brief look at the woman's cleavage makes it all clear to him, and once again, he desperately needs his pills.

"Sex addicts" She states and then turns her back to him again, entering the room.

_"Sex addicts? Must be fun," _he thinks to himself and decides to follow her inside.

The group eyes him questioningly. He gives them an exaggerated fake smirk to them and takes a seat behind the woman, leaning his chin against his cane.

"I see we have a new member here…" The instructor speaks, staring at House with slight suspicion. "We do not use real names here friend, so feel free to choose your nickname."

"Cuddy." Greg answers, smiling mischievously.

"Cuddy it is then Sir, I am your counselor, Albert, and this is our sex addicts meeting. I am afraid you're a bit late though seeing as how the session is about to end."

Greg shrugs. He couldn't care less. The woman sits in front of him, with her long legs stretched and crossed together and her arms folded across her chest. She listens carefully as a guy tells the story of how he almost fucked the family's cat and had his wife and kids leave him.

It's hard to fight the laughter. _"Why haven't I been here before? _This group is so much fun he thinks to himself_._

10 minutes later, the session ends and he walks away, limping slowly down the corridor.

"What happened to your leg?" He hears the familiar voice call behind him.

He turns his head and the woman appears beside him. He looks down at her. Her head barely reaches his shoulder.

"Old war wound, back from the days," he answers and she smiles, displaying a white row of teeth between glossy purple lips.

"Does it hurt?"

"All the time," he replies and continues walking, attempting to get rid of her.

He loves to look but he never really fancies taking them back home. Hookers are the exception. He turns his head to the side again and sees her staring back at him through her long dark lashes.

"What?" he stops and asks her, leaning down so he can inspect her more closely. She is not painful to look at, and she certainly look like trouble.

"I need a ride home," she says sweetly, batting her lashes with tenderness.

He rolls his eyes and glances behind them to see if there is anyone else in the corridor – anyone else who can give her a ride.

Everyone else has already gone home, the hallway is empty and dark.

"I ride a motorcycle," he states.

"I don't care," she answers, shrugging her petite shoulders.

He sighs and nods unwillingly. Giving her a ride is the _last_ thing he wants to do right now, but it seems like she is not leaving him much of a choice.

"Where do you live?" he asks, and a broad smile quickly appears on her face.

The ride to her home seems like forever to him, mainly because of the fact that every time she presses herself tightly against his body he feels himself getting hard.

It has been too long, he is in too much pain.

She climbs off the vehicle and then stands in front of him.

"You are not really from our group…"

"Not your group," he replays nervously, praying for her to quit snooping around and just go inside.

"Don't tell me… AA?"

"I'm from the 'none of your business" group." He replays coldly and then gives her a ridicules sardonic smirk.

She is not impressed, and not hurt by his behavior. Instead she stands there smiling, with her glossy lips and her white teeth. "Drugs." She says.

He lifts up his brow with wonder. _Sneaky little minx._

"I'm right, ain't I?"

"Prescription meds," he answers, feeling his mouth becoming dry just by the sound of these words. They taste bitter on his tongue.

"You don't look like the average drug addict," she says, observing his appearance.

He scoffs and then glares back at her figure, "Funny, you look just like a sex addict."

She shrugs and then begins to creep closer, standing next to his motorcycle.

"Why are you at the meetings?" she asks him, placing her wrist on the handle of his motorbike.

He rolls his eyes with frustration, wishing she will just go home and stop interrogating him. He doesn't like to talk about him problems, he doesn't like to talk about his personal life with her type of people.

"What is it to you?"

"Curiosity." She says and pushes her tongue between her teeth, smiling teasingly.

Greg narrows his eyes and stares at her, irritated. "I have a pain problem, and it seems like right now you're a part of it."

"Pain? Because of the leg?" She asks him and traces her dark purple nails across the leather saddle, drawing invisible squares.

His eyes track her movements. She is leaning close, close enough for him to gape down her the cleavage of her dress.

He remains silent, looking at her with what seems like menacing glare. She is not frightened, nearly moved at all.

"They are forcing you into this, aren't they? Caught you chasing the dragon at work, gave you an ultimatum."

"Who are you supposed to be? Sherlock Holmes?" he asks her with mockery.

She scoffs "I am not just a pretty face, sweetheart."

"No, you're a nice pair of tits as well." He replies.

To his surprise she laughs loudly and then moves even closer to him. He can smell her perfume, "Deep Red", sensual, mysterious.

"Are you in pain right now?" she asks, and stares at his leg.

He stares at it as well, and places his hand on his thigh, rubbing it gently. "I am, and you're quite a pain as well, so why don't you just go?"

"Big tough boy, aren't you?" She pouts mockingly "I am not making you stay."

He remains silent, knowing she is right. If he wanted to go, he'd be gone ages ago, but he is being an idiot, remaining there with her.

"You know, if you want it, all you have to do is just ask." She suggests and raises her eyebrows with mischief.

At first he frowns, unable to realize what she just meant.

She leans to him, placing her hand on his good thigh and pressing hard. He nearly jumps, he didn't foresee her action

"Sex releases endorphins" she says "My addiction, your addiction, I think we can be beneficial to each other tonight…" she suggests, tightening her grip on his thigh.

He is quick to brush her hand away, and then shifts in his seat awkwardly "You're half my age," He states and then asks himself why on earth he just refused her.

He needs his Vicodin, he needs his sweet relief.

The woman stands straight and backs away shrugging.

"Well it could be you, it could be anyone else. Goodnight then Sir, and thanks for the ride."

With that she turns away and walks slowly into the building, swaying her hips seductively. House stares at her behinds as she moves, strutting away from him. His pain increases in both his thigh, and the uncomfortable swelling in the crotch of his jeans.

She is young, attractive, and the pain is great and torturing. He figures that someone like her won't call him later, won't follow him around once they're done. All of it sounds convenient.

Carefully he dismounts his bike and follows her inside.

The dim lobby is so quiet that he can hear the buzzing sound of the electricity. His eyes search for her silently when he feels a delicate hand grab his wrist and pull him into the stairwell.

She presses against the wall aggressively, her palms pushing flat against his chest. Her kisses are passionate, her purple gloss smears all over his thin lips. At first he is bemused by her forwardness, but very soon, lust takes over – leading his actions. He allows his hands to trace her lower back softly until reaching her small buttocks, which then leads into pushing her against his swollen erection.

The woman whimpers into his mouth, feeling his hard cock poking at her abdomen. This, combined with the warmth between them makes her wet and eager for him. They stand kissing and groping underneath the orange light of the staircase.

House's leg is throbbing with pain, and his hands work their way to her underwear, attempting to pull them down. He is in such desperate need right now, imagining how he is about to fuck her right there, against the wall of some stinking lobby.

.

When she suddenly pushes him back, eliciting a rather loud protest from him. In order to quiet him, she presses a finger against his lips and then slowly begins to kneel down till she is at the level of his groin. She stares at him with hungry eyes, licking her lips in anticipation while her hands work his belt.

Overwhelmed, he stares down at her with a gaping mouth. He has never met a girl like this, not even in college. He has no interest in seeing her again after this night, but right now he feels that at the very least, he needs to know her name.

"What's your name?" he asks.

"No names," she insists, and pulls the zipper of his jeans down.

"First letter," he demands and then groans as he feels her cold hand gripping his erection.

"K," she answers, stroking him gently and observing the length of his manhood, "what's your name, big boy?"

He arches against the wall and groans with pleasure once again, closing his eyes.

"Sorry, you said no names…" he answers horasly.

She crooks her eyebrow and while she holds him in her hand she moves her other hand to his pocket, pulling out his wallet.

She flips the small leather folder open and views his driver's license.

"Gregory…House…" she whispers loudly enough for him to hear and before he is able to say anything she returns the wallet to his pocket and begins to trace her tongue along his shaft. House moans and leans his head against the wall, asking himself what good deed he has committed in order to deserve such delightful treatment. The woman licks him slowly and softly, not taking him into her mouth, yet slicking her flexible tongue down his large erection.

He groans and closes his eyes, pushing his groin further toward her. "Take me in…" he demands.

But then she suddenly stops, and pulls away from him.

He opens his eyes quickly, and sees her moving away from him, climbing up the stairs and then leaning her back against the wall and staring at him seductively.

"Hey…" Greg protests and quickly tucks his painfully hard arousal back into his pants.

She chuckles and then quickly runs up the remainder of the stairs, urging him to follow her. She slows down, several times, allowing him to keep her pace and to nearly catch her just so that she can teasingly run away again. When she reaches her apartment, she leans against the door and waits for him to approach her. He smiles and leans against her, trying to kiss her. She kisses him swiftly and opens the door causing them both to stumble inside.

They are on the floor, struggling with each other, vying for control, flipping each other over – fighting to be on top. Being a man he has the upper hand, even with his disability he is endlessly stronger than her. The leg aches but he is successful to pin her down and tear her underwear away. He has his hands holding her thighs apart and he lowers himself between her legs.

He unzips his jeans and positioning himself to enter her but just before he is able to penetrate she successfully flips them, swapping positions so that she is on top. She smiles victoriously at his expression of surprise. Her hands reach between her legs and she grasp his erection driving him inside her with a loud gasp. He bucks his hips, staring at her dancing above him and allowing himself to grab her waist, in order to pull her down to meet his thrusts. She moans with every pound and cries out loudly, using her knees as leverage against the cold floor, increasing the pace until she feels her orgasm filling her with pleasure and sweeping her away. House uses this opportunity to flip her, and holds her down again, pinning her hands to the floor as he plunges into her: roughly, quickly. As his climax draws near he feels himself lose whatever control he had and fucks her mercilessly until he finally comes into her, releasing a loud grunt.

3 hours later he wakes up in her bed. She is sleeping soundly with her back to him. He stares at her for a long moment, memorizing every detail of what they did with one another before slowly climbing off her bed, being careful not to wake her. He dresses quietly and searches for his cane. The pain is starting to return again, but sadly for him he had already drained her enough to sleep for the next 24 hours.

Now there is nothing that can help him.

He paces through her house, avoiding stepping in any of the mess they made as he approaches the door. Just before he leaves he takes a quick glance back into her home.

He hopes to never see her again.


	2. Blue moon rising

**AN:** Thanks for those who reviewed and sent me messages, and a great thanks for Kim who is doing beta for my stories. :)

Please keep reviewing, it's always nice to hear some criticism.

* * *

The numbing effect of the vicodin is what he lacks the most

The numbing effect of the vicodin is what he lacks the most; the absence of pressure, the absence of pain. Sitting in his office, playing with a pen in his hand, he wishes to be miles away, to end the raging throb in his thigh, and the angry race of thoughts in his mind.

Vicodin makes him forget. And tonight he really doesn't want to feel anything.

It's been three weeks since his last session at the rehab center. He stopped going in order to avoid her. He promised himself to never see her again because that's the way he is with women; that's what he forces himself to be.

Still, she is on his mind. Her purple lip gloss, her dark lashes and the way she spoke. She was different, mysterious. He still wants to know her name even though he will gladly shoot his other leg before admitting it to himself.

She claimed to know the taste of addiction, and like him she didn't deny her need for it, didn't resist it. She welcomed her obsession the way she welcomed him between her lovely thighs.

Free, rebellious, beautiful.

Right now the battle in his head is making him aggravated, knowing very well that along with his "magic" pill, he'd be calm, he'd be better. But he is forced to give it up, by those who foolishly believe he has a problem, by those who thought they can fix him. They know nothing of pain, of need.

She probably doesn't know anything at all, but she was free, she was interesting, and even though he avoided her, she is in his head, her memory tickling in his nerves.

"Dammit." He whispers with irritation, unable to break the trail of those disturbing thoughts. Standing up, he reaches for his long winter coat and wooden cane and prepares to leave to the rehab center.

On his way there, speeding up on his motorcycle, he has the image of her in mind, the way he remembers her, what a sweet delight she was; bare, willing, bald. She is a complete stranger to him, and he already hates her.

Every meeting begins at 9:00 and ends at 10:00. It's 11PM. The hall is abandoned, except for the janitor, who mops the floor while listening to music in his headphones. House stands in the end of the hall with a blank face, asking himself over and over again, _"what are you doing here_?"

He is not there to see her. She won't be there at this time at night. And yet he paces toward that same room where he first saw her

"The meeting is over." A man, who is collecting chairs, speaks to him. House stares at him baffled. The man, a tall man in his late 30's turns his head to look at him and then grins "But then again, you are not a part of the group, Cuddy."

House frowns and uses the cane to open the door. He won't walk farther inside. Instead, he simply gapes into the deserted space. "You remember me?"

"I have that 'thing'. I'm really good with faces." The man answers. "And I knew the first time I saw you, that you are not a part of the group."

"How is that?" House asks, staring at the men holding two chairs under each arm, and carrying them to the corner of the room.

"Fakers come here in order to hit on the ladies. Sex addicts are an easy target, and men are always desperate." The group instructor explains, putting the chairs at the little chairs castles he made.

House smirks, only slightly amused by the tale. "I wasn't desperate for sex." No, it was release he was searching, and it came in the image of a luring young woman. "I'm a part of a different group."

"Alcoholic?" The man asks, now left with no chairs to carry.

"No. Anonymous cushion thieves." He taunts him.

The man laughs and shakes his head, "I'm pretty sure there is a group for that, people will get addicted to about anything, as long as they can abandon their real life for it..."

House rolls his eyes and reaches his hand to his face in order to stroke his stubbles, "Spare me the lecture."

"Well if it's not for the sex, why the hell did you come here back then, and why are you here now, Mr. Cuddy?" The man asks, adjusting his glasses upon his nose while slowly pacing toward House.

House stares at him as he walks, and then turns his eyes to the place where she sat, which is now just an empty dirty rubber floor. "I was curious, never been to a sex addicts support group."

The man nods with agreement, but the smile on his face is anything but trusting. "You were curious about her." he notes, "And she was curious about you."

House widens his eyes with surprise, pretending to not know what the instructor is speaking of. "Her?"

The instructor scoffs and then nods in his head "She called herself Jess. You've been staring at her legs the entire time."

House remembers those legs vividly. They were wrapped around him in a tight grip for an entire night.

"She liked you, at least for that special night. She was the one who wanted you there, while no one else did." The man explains, with some amusement in his voice. House can feel the anger whispering, irritation slowly growing in the pit of his stomach. He lowers his gaze to the floor and frowns silently. "Anyway, she's gone, she haven't been here for 3 weeks." The instructor announces.

House brings his glare up once again, staring with a mixture of surprise and confusion. This entire time he's been avoiding her while she wasn't even there? Had she been avoiding him as well?

Right now he hates her even more.

The man continues speaking. "She wasn't here for long; she only joined the group a month ago. She never spoke."

She spoke a lot after he gave her a ride home, she spoke too much. She had the kind of mouth that demanded to be shut one way or another. In her apartment though, there weren't many words. Her mouth was open, but those weren't words coming out of her hot wet mouth.

House nods silently, realizing the meaning of the night. What he was to her was not a partner in crime, but the crime itself. She was in desperate need for a game. Every night, cruising the support group, she needed someone to be her game.

Not even bothering to part with the group instructor, House turns away from him and begins to pace down the hall. In his mind there is an endless battle, a part of him is endlessly curious about her, and different part hates her with rage.

What he needs is a fix; just one pill. Just to feel no feelings at all. That raging battle is making him restless, and stupid. So stupid that he drives all the way to her apartment, to glare at her window.

It doesn't surprises him to see the light closed. Hearing the story at the support group he believes she probably already left town, and that she will forever remain a mystery, an unsolved puzzle.

_Who was she?_

Sighing deeply, he turns the motor on, and drives away back to his apartment. His head clouded by many thoughts, while he swears himself to forget her, to never look back again. She was nothing more than a good fuck. He was off the pill and needed some sort of a climax. She was simply there.

How he sees her again is completely by accident.


	3. Easy Goes

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House.

**AN:** I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed and paid the time to read this story, keep it coming guys, and do forgive me for my late update, muse and free time were on short supply.

* * *

Her morning opens as every other morning; awoken by the sound of construction work being made outside. She opens one eye, mumbling a juicy curse, and then stretching herself across the mattress like some worn out old cat.

Only woke up, and already she feels exhausted.

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, her sight is yet blurry from sleep. She rubs her eyes and peeks at the abandoned bed sheets behind her. She names loneliness as a virtue, believing it to be her freedom. Yet in a funny way, he's been in her head every morning for the last 3 months.

There are no thoughts of romance in her head, seeing love is stranger in her life, there is no place or desire for it and certainly not for a terrible person like that same man she met back then. She thinks it might be because of how he left her to wake up alone. Now every morning is similar to that morning; forcing the memory of him in her mind.

It must be some cosmic revenge. To avoid one just to have memories haunt her for months, and her intrigue, is the biggest enemy in her current life.

Loathing herself a little bit more than just a tad, she steps out of the bed, and walks barefoot into the shower.

Outside its still winter, he looks at rain cloud outside the glass doors, while holding one hand in his pocket, and the other holds his wooden cane. Another session at the rehab center ended, another 45 minutes of pretending to be cured, and faking his struggle.

His hand rummages in his pocket, the tips of his fingers playing with a small oval pill. No one is looking and he slips the pill out, and flips it onto his tongue, savoring his sweet addiction.

Did they really expect him to kneel and surrender?

Limping slowly on the wet sidewalk, he observes his surrounding. Ambulances drive through fast, sirens making frantic sounds as they rush down the road. He doesn't care, he has his pill. He is mentally sedated.

The noise becomes sharper and stronger. He can see red light flashing through, and a mob of people, standing in as one noisy body.

An accident: two drunk drivers, two dead bodies and one fucked up Chevy. The cars meshed into each others as the drivers drove too fast. One driver flew right out of the window, lending on the road, when the other broke his neck.

That's when he sees her again.

An accident, waiting to happen.

She doesn't see him. She stands among the people, viewing the accident from the side. Her face remains cold and strained, appearing as emotionless as the victims of the accident.

House stares with his eyes open wide, surprised, intrigued, and above all feeling victorious for finding her. He examines every twitch of muscle with disbelief. A part of him wants her to see him, curious to see her reaction, while the other part prays for her to never turn and look at him.

He takes the time, observing how she looks. She is a little different from how he remembered; less attractive, and pretty plain. She is not too painful to look at, but he is fairly certain that he was probably either too desperate that night or that his memories idolized her too much.

Still, he finds that he wants to capture her, probably only for the sake of ruining her game.

Unaware of the eyes on her, and feeling bored by the sight of the tragedy in front of her. She turns, but to the other side. Thanks to the accident, the road in front of her is shut and so she decides to take the sideway.

House stares at her alarmed, seeing her begin to leave. Refusing to lose her tracks again, he decides to follow her steps.

Something feels fairly strange, a familiar feeling yet she can't place her finger onto it.

Entering the train she looks for the most distant and abandoned trailer, she never been too much of a people's person, and all her life she preferred sitting alone to avoid any sort of disturbance.

As much as expected, she finds the most distant and abandoned trailer. Sitting down she holds her chafed knee, hissing quietly and rubbing the sore wound. Even when alone, pain is not okay, but she is still only human.

The way their eyes meet, makes the hair on the back of her nape stand. Immediately she curses herself for locking gaze with him, and ever so carefully, she turns her head away, pretending to not know him.

It amuses him, knowing very clearly that she does indeed know him.

He stretches his arm forward, forcing his cane on the floor and limping toward her.

"Is this seat taken?" he asks her and before she even has the chance to answer, he walks across the seat, and sits himself in front of her.

She feels as if he just struck her on the head with his cane. Her eyes threaten to show surprise and great anger, but she swallows her emotions all in one. She decides not to give him any sort of satisfaction.

He looks at her with a silly face, proud of himself. For a moment there, she hates herself for letting him fuck her.

Still smirking stupidly, he waits for her to speak, to say anything. But she snubs him, rolling her eyes and turning her face to look from the window.

"So… you've been a bad girl." He says, "Been skipping a lot of meetings."

She turns her head back to look at him and frowns "Excuse me, sir?"

He scoffs and shakes his head "I ain't buying it."

The wrinkles in her forehead deepen "I think you're confusing me with some other girl." She explains, praying to god he will fall for it.

If only she knew him better.

"You know me better than I know you," he answers "Why did you disappear?"

Feeling rather powerless, she pretends to act bothered and slowly stands up, as if she fears being hurt by him. She smirks but it is a smirk of nothing but embarrassment. "Excuse me… I should go…"

She plans to exit the small booth where they sit, but faster than she could ever imagine, he stretches his arm and lifts his walking cane to block and cage her with him. She nearly shrieks as the cane hits the metallic wall of the train. Her heart skips a meaningful beat and all that comes out of her mouth is a silent gasp.

Loud enough for him to hear, that single gasp makes him smile from ear to ear. He is pleased by his work of art.

She turns her head to him while looking angry "You know that's sexual harassment?"

He curls the corners of his mouth down and pouts innocently "Actually, it's an old cripple who had his cane stuck between the seats," he claims, and then shakes his cane as if trying to release it.

She narrows her eyes with annoyance, hating him more and more as the minutes pass by.

"Sit down." He orders, flexing comfortably in his chair. He wants to make it clear to her, that she won't be leaving this train until he'll have his answers.

She clenches her fists together, furious and frustrated at once. There is no exit door and she fears that a man as insane as he might be, will probably chase her down if she'll attempt running. Unwillingly she sits down.

"Good girl." He smiles, slowly removing his cane from the wall.

She swallows her pride silently. Closing her mouth and clenching her jaw. Hatred is not even a word comparing to what she feels right now.

They sit quietly, staring into each other's eyes with the hostility of two animals, preparing to lunge at one another. In the background they hear the train making the trails shudder, and the trailer shudders.

She is the first to speak after a prolonging silence; the first to attack or defense.

"What do you want?" She asks, her voice hostile, her eyes burning with rage. But he is quite observant, and he detects fear of her, it drips from her trembling lips. It makes him much confident, she will break fast.

Yet despite the confident that runs through his veins, what he wants is even unknown to him. All he knows is that for more than 2 or 3 months he was obsessed with the idea of her, hoping he'd see her again, hoping to catch her, punish her, and expose her lies.

The way her lips shaped, the way her irises grow and her lids shut briefly, he knows too well, she lies.

"Where have you been?" He asks her, placing the cane beneath his chin and then leaning onto it. She curls her nose, pretending to be confused.

"Home, working, living, what is it anything to do with you?"

"You haven't been to the group, you left after that same night…" he says and then smirks as memories of that night spring through his head. Annoying or not, she was still a great fuck, still is. He observes her carefully, staring at her petite form and then licking his lips. He makes an excuse saying if he had her on withdrawal it might not be the same to have her when he is stoned.

While thoughts of what he'd do to her run through his head, she leans toward him in one of her tigress stares and then opens her mouth to speak.

"I don't know what you're talking about, you're crazy."

He leans to her as well and for the first time that night her scent covers his nose. She smells like lavender, something soft and delicate even though he thinks she is nothing gentle. Still, it arouses his memories. He remembers waking up in her bed, coming back home smelling of her sweetness.

To her he smells like nothing out of the ordinary, just the typical masculine scent. She remembers it just as well.

"I know I'm crazy, but how about you? Why do you keep denying? It's not like it would change what happened, we both know." He explains to her.

"Why do you want to know? What difference would it make?" she asks him.

He can see her beginning to break. Her voice becomes higher, louder, she is uncertain, confused. There is no point really. He just likes to have the upper hand.

"It matters because you escaped, you vanished, and now you're sitting here lying to me. I'm a curious guy, I just want to know why, I want to know your name." he replies and then adds "You know my name, it's quite unfair."

She remains silent for a moment, and he glances at her body as it moves with the trains constant bumps and shudders. She presses her lips into a thin line, her eyes stare into his deeply and then out of no reason an evil grin of tease adorns her face and she shakes her head "I'm sorry, I don't know you."

House feels aggravation slipping in, as if it wasn't there beforehand. There is something about this woman, about her smile and impure eyes. He can't stand her and yet he want to know, the way people dig into an open sore.

The train makes a sudden stop and for a minute the lights blink, she uses this opportunity to jump out of her seat. Alarmed he stands up and hurries after her, limping clumsily, and calling her to stop. At this very moment he hates himself, imagining how he must look, an old cripple, desperate for a game.

She ignores him, panting as she makes her way to the exit doors. Staying with him is fatal. He is strong, intimidating, she wasn't ready for him.

The doors of the train are open, and it's then that she realizes that the train stops to unload passengers. She steps out quickly, and then stands and glares as the door shut behind her.

He is not quick enough, thanks to his bad leg. He reaches the doors just then the close and out of frustration he thumps his hand onto the metallic door, staring at angrily. This might have been his only chance and he lost thanks to his disability.

She stands there still staring at him, now looking confused instead of happy. Then the train begins to go again, and they share one last glance, their eyes meeting in a deep meaningful moment for the first time, and then gone again.


	4. Rendezvous

**Disclaimer:** I do not own House.

* * *

Their rendezvous on the train yesterday is the only thing that's been on his mind

Their rendezvous on the train yesterday is the only thing that's been on his mind. The morning sun strokes his face as he lays awake, and he thinks of her, "the evil lying bitch," as he pet-named her. The itch in his throat, a disturbance he can't rid himself of.

He rests one hand behind his head and reaches his other hand to the hardness in his pajama pants. Closing his weary eyes he sees her in front of him, standing in the abandoned train.

Even in his fantasy, her eyes look cold; her face appearing hateful, like that smirk she gave him when she told him she doesn't remember. Still, she steps toward him and kneels and with that same smile she unzips his trousers and looks up to meet his glare.

It's not sex that draws him to her. He could always pick up the phone and call an agency, get a woman far prettier and far more obedient. It's not love either; he knows too damn well not to make that mistake, and she is still just a stranger.

It's curiosity, game of the devil, she is hiding, running away. And the more she runs the more vengeful his feelings become.

He comes…grunting, with the image of her lips around his cock.

House barges into Wilson's office, being greeted by that same semi-frustrated, semi-annoyed expression. There is a silly look on House's face. He limps through the room quietly and then rests himself on the comfortable sofa, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling thoughtfully.

Wilson anticipates some endearing remark to come through, but instead there is nothing. He simply lies there, resting and pretending to think.

House was always big on pretending, just the way he pretends to have forgiven Wilson. The only reason he haven't sank his fist down his face is because he has his vicodin. They try so hard to part him away from his favorite candy, yet they have no clue what a big of a favor he is doing to them by using it.

Wilson is the one to cave in first and opens his mouth to speak.

"I trust that you never heard of knocking..."

He widens his eyes in fake bafflement while stretching his legs on the handles of the sofa, "Why would I do that? What if you're banging Cuddy on the desk?"

Wilson rolls his eyes and then places the memo he's been reading neatly on the desk. "What do you want, House?"

He sighs deeply and stares at the blank air contemplatively. The woman from rehab comes to mind, "I met a girl…"

Wilson furrows his brow with confusion, disbelieving the words coming out of his friend's mouth, "You mean one that you didn't hire for an hour?"

House scoffs briefly and then retrieves his glare to Wilson, smiling faintly.

Wilson's face becomes even more bewildered. "You know being off the vicodin makes you really… peculiar."

House suddenly begins to cough and then makes a silly face "Yeah regarding the vicodin… I never really quit."

"What?!" Wilson exclaims shocked, looking almost too panicked "What do you mean by that?"

"I think I just told you…" House answers, shrugging and making another silly expression.

Wilson passes his hand on his forehead, rubbing his face with frustration. His best friend, Greg House, the person who one day will bring him to the point of a nervous breakdown. "This whole time? You pretended? Does Cuddy know? Does Tritter know??" He asks urgently.

"Keep your voice down", House demands "You think I'd be crazy enough to tell Cuddy? She'll chew my head off."

"And… and… the drug tests? How do you get away with it?" Wilson asks, his voice starting to slightly stammer, a sign for him beginning to lose his control. Sometimes being bets friends with House is like a scary theme park ride, he never knows what to expect.

House smirks again, all full and proud of himself. "It's a good thing I'm a head of the diagnostic department, I get access to those neat things called "labs"."

Wilson shakes his head with disbelief and frustration. After all they went through, the fight, the betrayal, nothing really changed. He was a fool to think there is a way to save House. One way or another he'd find a way to self-destruct.

"So who is this girl?" Wilson asks curiously.

That's a tough question; even House doesn't know who this girl is. All he knows is that she'd rather die before admitting they shared a night together.

"She's a 20 something sex addict I met at the rehab. Well, at least I think she's 20 something, I never asked." He speaks.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Wilson calls "She's a sex addict?"

"Don't worry, she's clean." House smirks playfully "I double checked."

Wilson makes a disgusted face and then shakes his head with disbelief.

"She was at their support group, you should have been there; you won't believe the stories…"

"So you went to rehab to get a girlfriend?" He cuts in.

House's smile begins to vanish and his face remains cold and distant, "She is not my girlfriend…I hardly even know her name, we just had sex."

"So why is she significant?" Wilson asks.

Why is she really so significant? Why can't he forget about her? Why does she struggle to hide behind a mask of lies? She is nothing special, not by looks, not by intelligence or any other talents that she may posses. He imagines that he would have lost her in the crowed if he never met her.

But he can't now, not anymore.

"She's not…" He replies and then rises slowly from the sofa, leaning on his wooden cane for support. Wilson raises his brow, staring bewildered. He hates it when he leaves in the middle of the conversion.

"I just wanted to make you jealous, because I have a sex life." House slips in the finale snide remark, just before leaving the office.

Over the last few days, she's been toying with the idea of searching for him; her dark grumpy looking doctor. He's been on her head more than anything else, snaking his way into even in her sleep. She closes her eyes and sees him, waiting for her in the empty train station. Coat - long and black, eyes - piercing blue.

It was lust, pure and twisted, more than what she is used for. He is so strong, mentally, physically, despite his disability he had her in his demand, he still does.

There is simply no escape from him.

While sitting in front of her computer at home, she shuts her eyes for a minute, remembering how his hand went everywhere and his fingers slipped inside. A deep moan rolls out of her mouth, as if she could feel his touch.

Why him? Out of every handsome man she slept with, why is he the only one she longs to see again, to be pressed down by his heavy weight, stroked, licked, fucked, and properly used. Just for a sweet one more time.

"Why did you ever follow me?" she asks, snapping back to reality and then reaching to light a cigarette. He doesn't seem like the type to fall in love, nor does she expect him to. He was the one who left her there alone in bed after all, and now he is back, haunting her in any possible way.

He picked his open wound, and she follows. So addict to her own insanity, she tortures herself with the thought of him.

His name an address appears on her screen, and a small smile greets the following information as if it was some pleasant gift.

His fingers stroke the keys slightly, producing a tender melody as he sits and plays his piano. He stares at nothing, playing thoughtlessly, mind numb after one glass of scotch, while his thigh is screaming with pain.

A soft knock on the door interrupts. He turns his head with a shallow grunt, staring at the wooden door confused. He doesn't have many visitors these days. People attempt to get closer, thinking there is something more to him, and he successfully alienate them, showing them there is no reason to bother. He is empty, drained.

Unwillingly he reaches for his cane and begins to limp toward the door.

Peering at the hole he is dumbfound and irritated at once, what sort of wicked game should this be? For a moment there he considers stepping back and ignoring her until she'll go away, but then it will seem stupid seeing she tormented his mind for too long.

He sighs; feeling like a fool caught in a web of circumstances and then finally opens the door for her, greeting her with a suspicious stare.

Uncertain if to speak, if to smile or simply take her feet and run away as far as she can, she stands there looking teenager like. Her fists are clenched, and her lips half parted. For some reason he frightens her, and she is uncertain why. Maybe it's because he seem like such a powerful man, and maybe because the frown he gives her chills her to the very core. Confusingly, she likes the shiver he gives her. This is fun, like a twisted little game.

He remains unmoved, waiting for her to explain, to speak, to stop looking like a lost young lady. She seems nothing like the sex crazed woman he met that same night. He even considers her to be somewhat boring at the moment. Impatient as he is, he decides to be the first to speak, maybe that way they'll end this tiring dance and he could go to bed and get some rest. God knows he's been needing rest.

"I don't think we've met before." He speaks, attempting to get back at her for the last time they met.

She scoffs silently, finally showing any sort of life signs. "I guess I deserve that." She answers. The smile remains of her face for a few seconds and then slowly fades when she sees he is not as amused.

His glare is anything but friendly, she violated his serenity long ago, made a fool out of him and now she is invading his territory as well. Did she honestly think he'd be thrilled to see her again?

"How did you find me?" He asks her suspiciously while carefully, examining the long black dress she is wearing and her high heels. She looks as if she is going to an evening dinner, and if he didn't know better he'd imagine she came there to seduce him.

She shrugs plainly and then leans one hand against the doorframe, feeling her confident slowly growing back. "Phonebook, internet, it's not that hard these days. I remembered your name and let's say it's not a common one."

He smiles sarcastically and shakes his head with disbelief, feeling hatred growing in the pit of his stomach. This girl, whoever she may be, is more wicked than she looks. She knows his name, where he lives and possibly where he looks, and all he knows about her is that she is probably unstable.

"Remind me to write an angry letter to those in charge of the internet," he replies dryly.

She allows herself to smile in retort, finding it safe to be entertained and amused by his cynical, bitter nature, which then seems to be a great mistake. He never softens to her; he simply remains cold and untrusting.

"Why are you here?" he asks in an aggressive tone, "I thought you wanted nothing to do with me."

Her smile and confidence fades within seconds and she pulls herself to stand straight, removing her hand from his door frame. It's a difficult question to answer. She is asking herself the same thing ever since she arrived.

"Aren't you going to invite me inside?" she asks, avoiding his question with elegance. Her eyes peer above his shoulder for a split second, observing the scenery inside. She is curious, dead curious to see what kind of a man is standing in front of her. She might know his name and his residence but he is a hard man to read and an intriguing one as well.

He looks at her tired, and then without even bothering to shake his head he simply answers "No."

Yet she is stubborn little thing, perhaps even more stubborn than him. She shows no signs of defeat and simply stands there, holding her arms crossed around her chest and her glare demanding. After a short battle of glares he finally sighs and paces back, allowing her to walk inside.

Stepping into his apartment she feels this is a trait not many people have won. He is a private man, and there is only so much one can learn from seeing someone else's house. She observes her surrounding slowly, picking whatever information she can.

He is a man of knowledge, and culture. His living room surrounded by books, music albums and expensive pieces of art. She also learns that he is a music man, noticing a small collection of different guitars and the large piano that he owns.

She turns to look at him with an impressed grin, while he closes the door. "Was it you playing the piano?"

"What do you want?" he answers immediately, ignoring her question. "There is nothing I want or can give you, so we better just stop playing games."

She sighs, knowing she can't avoid answering him forever. He will not give up, not again. Collecting whatever piece of bravery inside her, she breathes in deeply, and begins to slowly pace toward him.

He observes her carefully, examining her body movement, and the features of her body. Sometimes he hates being a man, there he is, wanting nothing to do with her and yet she successfully arouses him, it makes him feel like a complete fool.

"I'm sorry I lied." She apologizes, walking slow like a cat. "I really don't like you, I hardly ever wanted to see you again, so please don't interrupt this as something it's not."

He scoffs and turns his gaze away from her as she comes to stand closer. Her scent plays with his nose. She wears so much perfume that it's simply impossible not to smell it. Now he remembers how dangerous she is, and he curses himself for letting her into his house.

She grins as she stares up at his face, knowing just how vulnerable he is at the moment. Women have at least one power over men, and she knows how to use her power well. He may be tall and strongly built, but a small gal like her can make him just as insecure.

"What is it that you want then?" he asks her, retrieving his glare to look at her again, surprised to see that same woman he met 4 months ago. There she is, seductive, playful. If he didn't know better he would have guessed she has a sever case of split personality.

"What did I want from you at first place?" she asks, smiling cunningly.

He frowns at her, unable to understand why a girl like her would pick on someone like him. Even now they couldn't be any more impossible when she stands in a fancy dress and he is in a worn pajama pants and some old t-shirt.

"If you're looking for a boyfriend you can forget it." He protests. She chuckles immediately, exposing two dimples near the sides of her lips.

"I am not looking for a boyfriend."

"You're all looking for a boyfriend and a husband to be," he taunts her. "It's in your nature."

"Right," she comments sarcastically "I'm here because I want you to father my children with your cripple seed"

He rolls his eyes with annoyance, again avoiding looking at her. She has some nerves as he already noticed before.

She inches closer, placing a hand on his chest and stroking gently. She doesn't remember being attracted to someone the way she is attracted to him. He is everything a woman should run away from, and there she is, running toward him.

"I'm at least ten years older than you." He warns her, looking down at her big exploring eyes. Trying to give both of them excuses why not, then he moves away from her touch, ignoring it as if it is nothing and limping toward his couch.

She turns after him, smiling with joy because she knows very well he is avoiding her for the fact that she made him uncomfortable.

He sits himself down, holding the cane next to his knee and stares at her from where he sits while she slowly steps to him. He could send her home, he should, but she is young, she is not too harmful to look at and he doesn't remember the last time he was in this situation with anyone.

She walks closer, until she stands between his knees and her face are looking down at him with content. The room is silent. All they can hear is the sound of electricity going through the walls in his apartment. House looks up to meet her eyes, trying to understand why is she doing this but her eyes doesn't answer, they seem to be hazy at the moment, desire dances within them.

"I don't want anything from you." She explains and then slowly lowers herself to kneel. Their eyes don't break contact for a moment, as if either one of them is afraid something will happen once they'll drop their guards off.

"What's your name?" He asks her, trying to remain unmoved until the moment her hand reaches to the buckle of his belt and he almost groans with surprise when he feels the weight of her wrist on his testicles. He wants to tell her to stop knowing this will lead to no good, but his mind seem to be weak at the moment.

"No names," she explains to him, unbuckling his belt slowly and tugging the leather strap as if she is un-wrapping a gift. "This is nothing more than the obvious."

He begins to breathe heavily, his eyes going from his hardening bulge to her face repeatedly. "And the obvious being?"

She slides her hand into his pants, feeling his warm organ hard as bone in her slander palm. His eyes roll and he groans deeply, amazed by the sensation of her hand on his dick.

"It's all meaningless." She says, stroking him in a slow torturous rhythm. "Just two fools having casual sex." She explains and then releases his cock from the cage of his pajama pants, holding him firm in her hand. She licks her lips, massaging the ridge of him with her thumb, "just sex."

He pants, his hands holding the handles of the couch tightly. She has him where she wanted him, powerless, fingernails digging into the fabric. What fool would ever want to refuse something like that. Free casual sex, no strings attached? He'd be an idiot to say no.

He stares at her through half closed lids, and she smiles naughtily, pushing her tongue between her teeth as if this is some child's play. _"Succubus" _he thinks and she smiles even wider, as if she heard his thoughts.

"This is not fair" he whines, the voice hardly sounding right. Even talking seems difficult right now when she latches his erection in her greedy palm.

"Well you out of all men should know life kinda sucks." She giggles evilly and then let go of his cock and moves back to stand. He looks at her with alarm, about to voice his protest but then she pulls the skirt of her dress to her groin and slowly turns her back to face him.

"Do you still want me to go?" she asks, and without having him answer, sits herself in his groin. He stares at her surprised. This is different from what he is used to, but then again she is different.

She turns her head to him, staring into his eyes and pushing herself against his chest. Her hand reaches to his cock again and she tugs at the skin forcefully, making him grunt.

"Touch me, Greg." She commends, using his name in order to tease him. He stares at her half aggravated; he is not used to taking orders from women, or anyone to be exact. But her stroking at his organ becomes firmer while she grinds her ass against him.

"Touch me." She whispers again and pushes her lips closer to his, almost kissing him.

He complies, reaching his pianist hand between her open thighs and pressing his long fingers against the cotton of her underwear. He feels the outlines of her cunt, wet and sticky against the fabric and he cannot help but like his lips.

She sighs with rapture, enjoying the nearly invasive touch of his fingers. He attempts to push inside, despite the barrier of her underwear. Which makes the race toward desperate only more desperate. For the first time tonight, he has somewhat control.

They sit there so perversely, touching, grunting, playing with each other's intimate places, and what goes through his head is that she has no idea what she is heading toward.

She squirms against him, panting and gasping, enjoying the way his big body feels against her, the way his fingernails scratches her cunt as he tugs her underwear aside roughly in order to expose her.

He grazes her clit with his thumb and she swallows hard, unintentionally squeezing his cock in her hand which nearly throws him off the edge, he knows very well he won't be able to last long if they'll keep at it. "Fine," he rasps, slowly sliding his fingers out her.

"Is this yes then?" she asks, pointing his erection in the direction of her entrance and then grazing the head against her clit.

"What do you think?" He asks her irritated.

She chuckles again and then finally presses him into her. They sigh with unison – she let him slide slow into her, inch by inch until he fills her completely, his cock thick inside her, stretching her inside to accommodate his size.

They pause a moment, each one of them getting used to the other and trying to collect their senses back, although it will be impossible to control anything to follow.

She wants to keep eye contact the entire time, struggling to stare into his eyes, while simultaneously lifting herself up. His cock slides out of her, until only the tip is left inside her. Un-approving the situation, he places his hands on her waist and pulls her back down, forcing himself up her canal. She cries sharply while he groans into her ear. Selfishly enjoying being fully wrapped by her velvet folds, she is warm and moist. Everything a man needs.

She tries to determine the rhythm once again, but his hand reaches to her back and he pushes her lean down. In this position she won't be able to look at him and he will be in command, if she wants to play this game she better know who is in command.

He bounces his hips quickly, thrusting into her long and firm while holding his hand on her shoulder. The room shortly fills with the sounds of two bodies slapping against each other and their desperate aching pants. It's not long before her interior muscles begins to shudder, in that position the head of his cock hits an ultra sensitive spot inside her and since he knows he won't last long tonight, it will be favorable to all to wrap this one fast.

She parts her lips and cries out with amazement, feeling her orgasm swept her away while he continues pushing in and out of her fast. His organ is teased and clenched by her taunt muscles, and at last he explodes into her, groaning with relief and then pushing himself to rest deep inside her.

Resting against each other, still sweaty and exhausted. Both of them know very well how twisted their game is but no one is voicing a protest anymore, they are silent, trying to read into their own minds and realize what drew them to each other from the first place.

"Sex." She whispers, breathing heavily while feeling all the sticky mess they created. "It's nothing but sex."


End file.
